


The Wasteland of Daytime Television

by Lenore



Category: Smallville
Genre: Friendship/Love, Humor, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex stays home sick and learns something important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wasteland of Daytime Television

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Liz!

Lex's assistant took one look at him as he stepped off the elevator and said, "Oh, no. No, you don't."

"Excuse me?" With his stuffed up nose, he sounded more like a lisping third-grader than a CEO pulling rank, which was greatly annoying. He tried glaring to make up the difference, but one eye was watering and half swollen shut, ruining the effect.

"You're sick," Glenda said, as if the final authority on the subject.

"Am not," Lex insisted.

"Yes, you are," she said firmly. Glenda was the mother of four boys and no doubt an old hand at standoffs like this. "You have a terrible cold, and you're going to turn right around and go home and take care of yourself like a sensible person."

Lex had hired Glenda specifically because she was a straight shooter who would not be easily intimidated by him or his rather infamous temper. It was for this same reason that he now wanted to fire her very badly.

"It's Friday. I can make it through the day and then take care of myself tomorrow. I have a lot to do." His nasal voice made him sound as if he were whining, adding insult to injury.

"Nothing that can't be handled from home."

"Besides, I don't get sick."

"Exactly."

"I'm glad we understand each other. I'll be in my office."

"And I'll be calling your driver." She picked up the phone.

Lex put his hand on his hip. "We just agreed that I never get sick."

"Yes, and if whatever mutant virus you've picked up has made you, a person who never gets sick, feel even half as bad as you look then the rest of us have no hope against it at all. You don't want half your staff dropping like flies from the Verulian Death Plague, now do you?"

Lex opened his mouth to argue, but she'd maneuvered him into a corner where there really was nothing to say. He'd always secretly enjoyed the fact that Glenda was a fellow comic book geek, that he could make an allusion to the last stand on Zenzor and she would know to set up a meeting with the legal department. But using Warrior Angel _against_ him was hitting way below the belt, especially issue #76. That was one of his favorites.

"I suppose I might get more done if I worked from home," he said, as if it were his own idea, the corporate executive's face-saving tactic of last resort.

"An excellent decision," Glenda said, in a rather transparent attempt to humor him. "Best thing for you, not to mention your employees' puny immune systems."

He punched the button for the elevator. "But remember, I'm working from home. Not taking a sick day."

She smiled in a way he didn't quite trust. "Of course. I'll put anything that can't wait straight through to your Blackberry."

"See that you do," Lex said, as regally as he could manage with post sinus drip.

The elevator doors dinged open, and he swept inside with an impatient air of places to go, important things to do, trying to salvage some sense that he was still the boss around here. Glenda gave him a little wave, as if seeing her eight-year-old off to school, not the least bit impressed with his bravado.

* * *

Lex would never admit it to Glenda, but when he stepped into the penthouse twenty minutes later, he'd never been so happy to be home in his life. He couldn't breathe, his nose was running like a defective faucet, and his head felt at least fifty pounds heavier than it normally did. He had no idea how people put up with being virus-bait. It was an utter indignity.

He trudged into the study, flopped down at his desk and flipped on the computer. He connected to the LexCorp server over the secured private line. It took a few seconds for his email to load, and he lay his head down on his desk while he waited. He made a mental note to put his top research team on curing the common cold, immediately if not before then.

The program opened, and he frowned. He was usually inundated by email, but his inbox was suspiciously empty.

He hit speed dial number two on the phone on his desk—Glenda was bested only by Clark in the important-to-talk-to category—and she picked up on the first ring.

"Yes, Mr. Luthor?"

"There's something wrong with my email. Get Phil from IT on the line. Better yet, just send him over. I want it taken care of right away."

"Your email is fine."

"This is your expert opinion?"

"Your inbox is empty because I've been handling whatever needs immediate attention and deleting all the unimportant stuff. So we can leave poor Phil in peace."

"I'm working from home, remember?" he said, peevishly. "Not taking a sick day."

"Of course. And I'm helping you work more efficiently by handling routine matters you don't need to be bothered with," she said with exaggerated patience, as if explaining her job to a small child.

"I'm the CEO, Glenda! The company needs me at the helm, in charge and fully informed. Do you know how many people are depending on me? How many jobs are at stake if I'm not two steps ahead of my competitors?"

"Ten thousand, five hundred and sixty-seven the last time I checked with Human Resources. And I'll be sure to put through to your Blackberry anything that might cause the imminent demise of the company in plenty of time for you to avert disaster, I promise. In the meantime, why don't you try to get some rest?"

"I don't need rest! I'm _working from home_!"

"Of course. I'll check in on you—" She cleared her throat. " _With_ you, I mean. I'll check in _with_ you a little later this morning. Call me if you need me."

Lex let out his breath in exasperation. He briefly considered calling her back and making threats if she didn't unhand his email, but one of the few useful things he'd learned from his father was never to issue an ultimatum if you weren't prepared to see it through to the gory end. As little as Lex might like to admit it, the world wasn't exactly over-brimming with capable assistants. He picked himself up from his chair and dragged himself off to the bedroom. Maybe he would just lie down and shut eyes for five minutes.

* * *

The problem with taking it easy—Lex found—was that it was actually surprisingly difficult. After he'd taken his nap—a short one, he wanted it noted for the record—he really was at a loss for what to do next. He spent a good half hour arranging and rearranging the pillows, thrashing around trying to get comfortable before finally settling on his side, staring pleadingly at his Blackberry on the bedside table, willing it to go off. It remained stubbornly silent. Finally, he reached for the phone.

"Yes, Mr. Luthor?" Glenda answered.

"I'm _resting_. I hope you're happy."

"Good for you. A very wise decision."

"But I need you to send someone over here to check out my Blackberry. I think it's broken."

"Your Blackberry was just serviced two weeks ago. It's in perfect working order. Nothing important has come up, so there's been no reason to bother you."

"You're not going to let me work at all, are you?" he accused.

"Not unless it's truly urgent, no."

"Well, what am I supposed to do all day?" he demanded plaintively, no doubt sounding more like Glenda's three year old than he'd care to know.

"Try channel 7. The Sylvia show is on. It's very popular, I hear."

He sniffed indignantly. "You want me to watch television?"

"Hey, you never know where the next big idea is going to come from. Isn't that what you always say? Think of it as research."

He hung up with a skeptical snort. When he flipped on the television a moment later, it was only to gather enough information to make the sarcastic remarks he planned to deliver first thing Monday morning all the more cutting for their realism. After a commercial, the most gaudy, pink graphics Lex had ever seen proudly announced the imminent arrival of Sylvia, accompanied by a swell of empty-headed elevator music. The set was standard daytime talk-show issue, violently overstuffed furniture and knickknacks that looked sadly out of place. A curtain opened and out bobbed Sylvia, aswirl in a big, pink skirt, her blonde hair as carefully lacquered as her bright, white smile. Truly, Lex wept for a world in which her show was second only to Baywatch in the hearts of syndicated television viewers.

"Today we're devoting the hour to a very important question: Are you secretly in love with your best friend?" Sylvia informed them in a breathy voice, as if she’d just run up a steep flight of stairs.

Lex rolled his eyes. Who was the show's target audience? The oblivious and the downright stupid? Surely, any halfway reasonable person could figure out where they stood with their best friend all on their own. He, for one, didn't need some hair-brained quiz on a bubble-gum-colored TV show to tell him that Clark was practically a brother to him.

"So get out a piece of paper and a pen and get ready to take our seven-question quiz,” Sylvia commanded. “Now, make sure you answer honestly. Our test is completely scientific, but it can't work if you don't do your part."

 _Scientific, my ass,_ Lex thought. Although he suspected Sylvia herself might have been created in a lab somewhere. He grinned meanly, beginning to feel entertained.

"All set?" Sylvia chirped. "Great! Here we go. Question number one. If something very good or very bad happens in your life, is your best friend the first person you call?"

Lex snorted. "No, I like to call my worst enemies first." Could there be a more idiotic question?

"Got your answer down? Good!" Sylvia beamed into the camera. "Now on to question number two. Is it important to you to have a good relationship with your best friend's family?"

He sighed heavily. This question was almost as useless as the previous one. Sure, Lex made it a point to learn everything he possibly could about tractor maintenance just so he could carry on a conversation with Jonathan, and Martha made his favorite sour cream apple walnut pie every time he came to visit. That kind of closeness was the natural result of any long acquaintance.

"Are you willing to go places and do things you really don't like just to please your best friend?"

Well, there was that greasy spoon Clark was always dragging him to on weekends. Not to mention all those keg parties he'd endured during the college years—complete with clingy, drunken coeds and barfing freshmen—just because Clark had insisted it wouldn't be the same if he didn't come along. Plus, the time he'd given in to Clark's petition to go camping with him and slept in an honest-to-God tent in the actual wilderness, even though his own notion of roughing it was staying at a Holiday Inn.

Okay, okay, so he did a lot of things of no particular interest to him just to make Clark happy, but how many times had Clark gone to the opera or attended some snooze fest of a charity event because Lex needed to put in an appearance or listened without rolling his eyes to a detailed recounting of the latest adventures of Warrior Angel? What kind of friends would they be if they didn't do things like that for each other?

Sylvia leaned in confidentially. "This quiz really tells you a lot, doesn't it?" she said in a breathy voice.

"It tells me you left school in the eighth grade," Lex drawled back at the screen.

"Okay, so think carefully about this next question. When you're with your best friend in a group of people, do you wish the two of you could just be alone?"

Lex shook his head. Of course, he did! But let Sylvia spend an evening with Pete glaring at her like she was the anti-Christ, and see if she wouldn't prefer to enjoy Clark's company in peace.

"Number five. Do you share food with your best friend? Do you eat off each other's plates? Now that's a sign, if ever I've heard of one." She winked suggestively.

"Oh, please." Lex waved his hand in dismissal.

Yes, Clark did usually end up eating more of Lex’s dinner than he did himself whenever they went out, and, yes, it was a sign, all right. A sign that Clark had an alien metabolism to feed. If this were a quiz on how to spot an extraterrestrial super hero, maybe that question wouldn't be quite so lnane.

Sylvia squinted at the cue card. "Hey, here's a good one. Have you memorized your best friend's schedule? Tell the truth, all you stalkers out there!" She had a hearty laugh at the notion.

Lex was less amused. So he kept mental track of Clark's comings and goings? That hardly made him a stalker. It just meant he paid attention. And so what if he still remembered that Clark had taken "The History of Medieval Art" at 9:15 on Tuesday and Thursday mornings the spring semester of his sophomore year at Met U. or that he'd had gym in the second, sixth and third periods respectively his last three years of high school? Lex was a business executive. If he didn't pay attention to details, LexCorp would have ended up on the dust heap of corporate competition a long time ago.

"Are you starting to spot a pattern?" Sylvia asked coyly.

Lex huffed disdainfully. "None of that means anything. There are plenty of other explanations than that I'm secretly in love with Clark."

"Of course, it is possible that you could have answered "yes" to all those questions and still only want to be friends."

"What did I just say?"

"That's why we have one last question. This is the one that really counts! Number seven…can I get a drum please?" Sylvia smiled, as if delighted by the cheesy sound effects. "Do you have secret sexual feelings for your best friend that you're trying not to admit?"

Lex harrumphed. "If these feelings are such a big secret, then I'm not very likely to be able to answer that question, now am I?"

Sylvia trilled a laugh. "Stumbling over that last one, huh? I know, know. But if you're somewhere private, try this. It'll give you all the answers you need!" She lowered her voice confidentially. "Think about your best friend. Picture your best friend's face, body, hands, that great smile of his. Now touch yourself and see if you feel any magic."

Lex had to wonder if the FCC would approve of Sylvia issuing an invitation to masturbate on national television, not that he personally had any intention of taking the silly dimwit up on her suggestion. He'd known Clark for fifteen years. Even if he had ever entertained sexual designs on him, surely there was a statute of limitations on repressed attraction that would have long since expired. No wonder people complained so much about what a wasteland daytime television was.

And yet…now that Lex had started to think about Clark, a storehouse of images sprang to life. Clark's quick smile, the way his face lit up when Lex did some small thing to make him happy. The worried look he got that peeked right through the Superman façade when he had to swoop in and rescue Lex from some misadventure or other. The reassuring weight of Clark's hand on his shoulder, the way his arms closed around Lex in a hug, the gently restrained strength of his embrace that was the only kind of permanence Lex would probably ever believe in.

The thought filled him with a warm rush of affection that was only right to feel for a best friend, especially one like Clark, and he reached beneath the covers, dipped his fingers into the waistband of his pajamas, just to prove Sylvia wrong. To show himself that he might love his friend but that didn't mean he wanted to _love_ his friend.

The shock of arousal made him yank his hand away. "Shit!"

That couldn't be right, could it? It had to be a fluke or a side effect of the virus or…something.

And yet, images of Clark keep parading through his thoughts, and there was really only one way to see if it had just been a freak occurrence or something…else. He was a scientist after all, not one to shy away from an experiment, and he'd always believed the life of a coward wasn't worth living. He boldly returned to the laboratory beneath the covers with a researcher's detached skepticism, expecting no response, but when he touched himself again…

"Fuck!"

He was as hard as a teenager with his first contraband copy of "Playboy." He groaned in the back of his throat as he stroked himself, his head filled with all kinds of pictures of Clark, things he'd seen, things he'd apparently like to see. Clark wet, his T-shirt clinging in all the right places. Clark dispensing with his shirt altogether, the flex and play of muscles in his arms, across his beautiful, sculpted back. He imagined the soft warmth of Clark's lips on his, the hot press of naked skin, the tangle of eager limbs, the unbearable urgency of possession as they writhed together…

When he came, Sylvia was smirking on screen as if she could see into his bedroom and knew _she'd_ proven _him_ wrong. "Well, I guess that answers that question, doesn't it?" She laughed smugly.

It wasn't bad news especially, just rather a surprise, but he still felt like shooting the messenger. He pondered whether it might not be worth diversifying into broadcasting just to have the pleasure of seeing her face when he said those magic words: _You're fired!_

Sylvia chirped on, oblivious to the grave jeopardy her career was in, "The only question now is: How does your best friend feel about you? Don't know the answer? Not to worry! We've got you covered. Just pick up a copy of Sylvia magazine, fresh on your newsstands today, and read our seven surefire ways to see if your best friend loves you back." Her expression grew more serious. "Or you could just ask him." She guffawed loudly and waved her hand. "Nah!"

Lex flipped off the television with an exasperated snort. Okay, so he had to admit the woman was a marketing genius. Half of America would be out buying the magazine before the credits finished rolling. Maybe he'd let her keep her job after all once he'd bought the network.

 _Nah!_ he thought sleepily as he drifted off with visions of acrobatic super-love filling his head.


End file.
